“Sounds easy.”
“It should be.”
“How do I know you didn't just stage this?”
CJ met Wayan's eyes, and saw he was serious. “Just how would I do that? You saw the photos.” He turned onto the correct street. He could see the church spire several blocks west.
“Stage makeup. Photo manipulation.”
“And the concrete? That's fake, too?” CJ shook his head. “I guess you'll have to see for yourself.” He shot a look at Blanche. “Too bad I didn't get something more dramatic today. Maybe he'd believe something a little bigger than saving one guy from dying.”
She frowned and shrugged.
“Oh come on, Sheridan. You had all afternoon to set this up.”
“If you don't believe me even just a little, then why did you bother crashing on my couch? You could have just headed home.” He stopped at a red light and tapped the steering wheel. They were cutting it a little closer than he'd wanted. He looked in the mirror again. “So? Why didn't you leave?”
Wayan shrugged and turned to look out the window, evading CJ's look. Suddenly, CJ knew what was going through the other guy's mind. He'd experienced the exact same thing not so long ago. He smiled. “You're curious and want to believe, but you're afraid you'll look like a fool. You're worried this is some elaborate prank and that at the end, I'll be pointing and laughing at you.”
“Can you blame me? I mean, dude. A magic camera? That sound like a load of bullshit if I ever heard one.”
CJ laughed. “It sure does sound like a load, but I swear to God, it's the truth. You'll see.”
“So if it's real, why are you telling me about it?”
“You mean other than the fact that you threatened to arrest me this morning?”
Blanche turned to CJ. “What?” Then she twisted to look at Wayan. “You were going to arrest him? Why?”
“I wasn't really, but I thought about bringing him down for questioning about a cop's murder. He says he witnessed it.”
“I didn't witness the murder, just Cruz getting jumped.” CJ accelerated, moving into the right lane as soon as it was clear. He was speeding a bit, but by his calculations, they only had a few minutes, and they still had to spot the victim before he actually became the victim.
“I could give you a speeding ticket you know.”
“Come on. Just chill and quit being a cop for five minutes, okay?”
Wayan laughed. “I'm just messin' with you now.”
CJ braked in front of the church and jumped out of the car. Wayan opened his door and stood by the car, his hands shoved in his pockets. “The site is roped off with yellow tape warning pedestrians. I don't see how someone is gonna get flattened unless they're totally stupid.”
CJ scanned the area. The bell started tolling the hour. Shit! Several people were around, but they weren't the victim as they were construction workers and wore hardhats. Not that the hats would have saved them from a block of concrete falling from thirty feet, but there had been no hats in the photo, and the man had been dressed like a businessman.
“There!” Blanche was half out of the car, one arm resting on the open door, the other pointing to a man who rounded the corner, his eyes on the ground as he spoke into a cellphone. He ignored the signs about construction, shifting a saw horse draped with yellow caution tape out of the way.
CJ bolted towards the man. The clock and already sounded two times. He was already closer than CJ had anticipated. His dream hadn't shown which direction he'd come from, instead focusing on the time of the accident. There was no time to redirect the man. Instead, CJ picked what he hoped was a good angle and called out a warning an instant before he executed a flying tackle of the guy, shoving him out of the way. He felt the concrete brush past him an instant before it exploded on the pavement. Shards of rock flew like shrapnel and he felt something sting the back of his neck as he fell to the ground on top of the man. The cellphone skittered away across the sidewalk.
“Hey!” The man shoved him off. “What the hell are you doing?” He stood and looked around, finding his cellphone. “Look what you did! It's broken!” He shook the phone at CJ.
CJ rolled to his hands and knees, lifting one knee to examine the scrape. Another pair of jeans ruined. Damn. His hands burned where they'd skidded over the rough cement. He had more scrapes now than he'd had a six-year old learning to roller blade. And that was a lot. He ignored the man who swore at him until the guy bent and yelled at him.
“You owe me a new phone, buddy.”
CJ shook his head and staggered to his feet, wincing at the pain in his scraped knee. It was going to have a nice bruise on it, too. “I just saved your life.” He pointed to the shattered masonry that had left a small crater in the sidewalk. “You should pay attention to where you're walking.” He glanced at Wayan, who stood with his mouth hanging open. Well, at least he'd seen it wasn't a set up. Blanche was looking up at the church, then to CJ. “Are you okay? You should probably get out of there in case another piece falls.”
The construction workers came up. One of them asked, “Everyone okay?”
“Yeah, but this idiot broke my phone. You guys saw it, right?”
“We saw you ignore the sign. You could get in a lot of trouble for that, and you're just damn lucky this guy happened to see the danger.” The worker turned to CJ. “How the hell did you see that, anyway?”
“I, uh. I didn't at first. I was going to see if someone could give me directions to…the United Center. I just happened to see the concrete wobbling when the bells started tolling.”
Wayan approached but he spoke to the man instead of CJ. “I saw the whole thing. I'm an off-duty Chicago Police officer. I could arrest you for trespassing into a construction zone. You're got off easy. Now, get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
The man, seeing he was outnumbered, swore and continued on his way.
Wayan put his hands on his hips. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah.”
“Turn around.” Wayan circled his finger like an umpire signaling a home run.
“Huh?” CJ turned slowly, looking over his shoulder at Wayan and Blanche. Her eyes widened and he stopped turning. “What?”
“You're bleeding.”
“I am?” He felt the back of his neck. “Ouch.” He felt a sharp pain when he touched it. His knee hurt worse but his hand came away smeared with blood. “Oh, wow. I am. Well, it can't be too bad. I can barely feel it.”
The construction worker hollered to someone to get the first aid box, and then stepped up to CJ. “Let me look.” He pulled CJ's collar out of the way. “I don't think it's too bad, but you might have some fragments in there still.”
Blanche came forward a few steps, but waved CJ closer to her. “You guys need to get back. What if another one falls?” One of the workers returned with a plastic box with a red cross on it. She held out her hand. “I'm a nurse. I can look at him.” She opened it and rummaged around. “Kneel down. I can barely reach your neck.”
CJ gingerly went to one knee, favoring the scraped one. “Save a Band-Aid for my knee.” He picked at the hole in his jeans and frowned. These were only a few months old.
A few minutes later, and a string of foul language that may have made the construction workers blush, CJ stood again. “Thanks. I think.”
Blanche rolled her eyes, but her smile softened the action. “Quit whining. What do you expect when I had to pluck out three sharp pieces of concrete? You're lucky you don't need stitches.” She returned the box to the worker.
CJ was glad to see the workers discussing the incident with someone who appeared to be in charge. They pointed to the top of the church and the small pile of rubble where the block had hit.
“Do you get that kind of reaction often?” Wayan bent to pick up a wrapper from the bandage and shoved it in his pocket. “You'd think the guy would be grateful.”
“No, not usually, but I'm pretty new at all of this. Someone else had the camera before me.” He d
idn't think he should reveal who it was. Not yet. “You probably get the same kind of reaction a lot.”
Wayan shrugged. “Yeah. I guess. Even the people who call us to help them tend to get pissed off when we try to actually do our job, but I think if I saved someone's life as blatantly as you did, most people wouldn't act like a prick.”
“Eh, whatever. Maybe he'll figure it out one day.” CJ fished in his pocket for his keys. “Come on. I owe you a dinner.”
Wayan shook his head. “Nope.”
CJ and Blanche exchanged a look, then CJ stared at Wayan. “You still think this was a set-up? You saw it with your own eyes!”
“The camera predicted this. You have to believe it now.” Blanche swept a hand towards the shattered remains of the masonry. “There's no way CJ would know about a random event like this, the exact time and place, unless he had some kind of psychic ability.”
“Whoa. I'm not a psychic. I just have a connection, of sorts, with the camera. That's it.”
“I do believe you, CJ. I was saying that you don't own me dinner. Tonight, it's my treat. It's the least I can do after all the shit Hamilton put you through.” Wayan grinned and made a motion with his head towards CJ's car. “Just keep it reasonable. I'm not rich you know.”
CJ laughed.
* * *
Phillip glanced down the street. He couldn't see anyone, and heard only the usual sounds of traffic and the occasional dog barking. He knocked on the door. No answer. There was a light on towards the back of the house, from what he could see. He knocked again, harder this time and mumbled, “Come on, you son of a bitch.”
The door opened a crack. “Yeah?”
“It's me. Let me in.”
“What for?”
“Damn it, Tyson, let me in before someone sees me out here.”
“I ain't gotta let you in.” Tyson stuck his head out of the door and looked around. “But I got a reputation to uphold, and don't want anyone to see you.” He pushed the door open and Phillip caught the handle.
“Your hospitality makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.” Phillip stood in a cramped living room that smelled of cigarettes and body odor. He tried not to show his distaste as he followed Tyson through to the back of the house and the kitchen. It might have been a nice kitchen at one time, but now dirty dishes choked the sink and the table was covered in beer bottles and junk mail.
“So? What do you want?” Tyson plopped onto a chair and grabbed a beer, taking a long swig. Phillip eyed the collection of bottles, some empty, some with just a little on the bottom, backwash probably, and some with cigarette butts floating on the surface.
“I have a problem.”
“You always have a problem.”
“Let me rephrase that. You have a problem. You screwed up. You were seen by Sheridan when you were supposed to do a clean hit on Thompson. Then he saw you jumping Cruz too.”
“So? He don't know who I am.” Tyson grabbed a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Hamilton. “Smoke?”
Curling his lip, Phillip declined. “You don't understand, he has connections. And, he saw your tattoos.”
Tyson looked at the crude tattoos on his knuckles. “Like I'm the only one with 'em?” He smirked. “Sheridan was scared shitless when I aimed at him. I should have pulled the trigger when I had the chance, but there were too many witnesses by then. I had to get out of there. Besides, the terms were for one hit. I don't do freebies. If I'd have killed him, you'd owe me another twenty grand.”
Phillip fought to control his anger. For better or worse, he needed this thug…for now. “I need you to keep an eye on Sheridan.”
“What? You mean you want me to tail him?” Tyson sat forward, his bottle midway to his mouth. “Why don't I just kill him?”
Phillip nodded. “Eventually, yes. That'll be the plan, but for now, I want to know who he's meeting with. He has to have some kind of connection. I don't know if he's working for his father.”
“His father?” He tilted the bottle, guzzling in long, noisy swallows.
“His dad heads the FBI office here.”
Tyson lowered the bottle, beer spewing from his mouth. He swiped his hand across his lips and shook his head. “Are you crazy? You don't want to mess with the feds.”
“It looks like I don't have a choice.”
Shaking his head, Tyson waved a hand in front of his face. “I ain't got time for that shit.”
Phillip leaned forward, his hands braced on the tabletop. “You don't have time? I pay you to have time for this shit.”
“Well, get someone else to do it. I'm not looking to get nabbed by the FBI.” Tyson set the bottle down, his eyes narrowed. “What you pay me isn't going to do me any good from a prison cell. Get someone else to do it. You want me to take care of the problem, fine, I'll do it, but I'm not going to give him a chance to ID me before that happens. He's already seen me a few times. “
Phillip straightened and sighed. “Fine. I get it. I'll get Tom to tail him. He was my first choice except that Sheridan knows him.”
“If your guy does his job right, Sheridan shouldn't ever see him.”
“But when it comes time to take the next step, are you up for that?”
“If the price is right.” Tyson stood.
Chapter Twenty-Two
CJ locked the studio at the end of the day and stretched. What he needed was a good workout and considered taking his bike out for a nice, long ride, maybe down by the lake. He’d found the excellent bike path down there and wanted to take advantage of it as often as he could before winter hit. Sitting at a desk all day was going to kill him. He scratched the back of his neck, sighing at the relief. The wounds from the shards were almost healed but itched like crazy. Another day or so, and they’d be completely healed. He couldn’t wait.
Mark was still out on a shoot, but he said he'd be late and not to wait, so CJ grabbed the envelope of photos he'd developed during his lunch after taking the photos before arriving this morning. He hadn't even had a chance to look at them yet as the phone had rung while he'd been taking them down. He'd shoved them in the envelope to take out to the office, but then a client came in to look at proof sheets, and spent an hour deciding. Just after she left, CJ had several phone inquiries in a row, booking two of them. Who knew working in a photography studio would be so busy?
Finally alone, and with the phone switched off for voicemail to answer, he looked at the images. The first few held nothing, but the next several showed something that he hadn't photographed. Instead of images of the EL track at crossing above the cross-street, they showed what appeared to be the aftermath of a bloody shootout. As he looked through the photos, he tried to make sense of the setting. A cement floor? He could see walls and the lighting looked like it was indoors. A garage? Two of the bodies were facedown, but one was in a police uniform. The other, jeans and a dark shirt. The third was hidden by the body of the second, but the slimness of the arm and leg jutting out led him to believe it was a woman.
He shouldn’t really call them bodies, as if they had died for certain. He couldn’t tell from the photos. It was possible that all three were injured but not dead yet. CJ could hope. But he didn’t hold out a lot of hope. The camera didn’t show images of injured people. It showed dead people.
Dread settled in his gut. He strained to identify the victims but was a bloody mess. He noted a few details that had escaped him at first glance. The second person had his hands in cuffs. A pool of blood surrounded the trio and he couldn’t tell where it came from. He couldn’t spot any wounds but assumed they were on the front of the victims.
He tried to figure out what it all meant from the images, but it was the aftermath, and didn't say why this happened. Using a loupe, he looked closely at all four images, deciding that one person on the ground, the cop, looked a lot like Wayan. He remembered when Blanche had shown up twice in images already, but he'd fixed both of them, and wondered why he kept getting photos of people he knew. Granted, he hadn't known Blanche the first tim
e, but he had the second, and he knew Wayan already. In fact, his first images he'd ever had were of Mark, but he wasn't sure those counted either because he hadn't yet met Mark. He just used Mark's camera at the request of his father and Jessie.
One time when he and Mark had discussed the camera and how it might work, Mark had mentioned the he thought it had something to do with connections to himself. Was that still the same? Were these people connected to Mark? Or had the connection transferred to him now?
He wished Mark was here so he could show him the images and wondered if Jessie was around. While she and Mark lived above the studio, the steps up to the loft were behind the door at the end of the office. If she had returned home, he hadn't heard her, but that wasn't unusual. She was quiet and took off her shoes in the loft. He glanced at the clock. It was only five-thirty. He didn't know Jessie's schedule but knew that she rarely returned before the studio closed for the day. Sighing, he decided he'd head home and show his dad the images. He definitely wanted another person's opinion on these photos and Blanche was working tonight.
* * *
“Listen to me carefully. I want you to pick up Blanche Harlow.”
Phillip circled her name on his notepad. Tom had done a decent job of tailing the Sheridan kid, finding a connection to the Chicago P.D. in Wayan Cooper. Where there was smoke, there was bound to be fire. He had hoped to gather more information before acting on his hunch that Sheridan was getting close to Cooper on his father's orders. Cooper worked right here, in Phillip's own district. That couldn't be a fluke. He'd already tried breaking Sheridan, and that hadn't worked. Now he knew his weak spot. It was always a girl.
He cut-off Tyson before he could work up to a full-blown whine. “Shut-up and listen again. Pick up Blanche Harlow and bring her to this address.” He gave the address and listened as Tyson read it back.
Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 22
